Secret Shared
by RainAndRomance
Summary: "The truth, Mr Napier, is that I need a friend. We share a secret. Can we forge a friendship?" A collection of letters and conversations between Mary and Evelyn as she confides in him her feelings on everything. A glance into Mary's sensitive side. I'll jump about over the three seasons, so there will definitely be some pretty major spoilers in here.


_This is a series of letters of correspondence, meetings and jokes that Mary Crawley and Evelyn Napier shared. While I start at the beginning of this friendship being forged, I'll jump about as inspiration strikes. I'm really trying to capture Mary's character – her calculated façade, her secret insecurities, her gracefulness and manners – so if you have any pointers, please say :o) Please, please leave a comment :o)_

**Extending the Olive Branch**

Mary unpinned her hat, handing it to a nameless footman with an appreciative smile in his direction. Her eyes scanned the modern entrance hall approvingly – Lady Rosamund Painswick certainly had good taste in furnishings.

"Mary, darling," her aunt greeted. "Do come in. I've already had Fields run a bath for you upstairs."

"Aunt Rosamund," Mary replied with a smile, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you for allowing me to come down."

"Not at all," the older lady said. "It's quite understandable that you want some diversion after that poor Turkish gentleman died. I still can't take it in. No doubt Mama was livid."

"I'd really rather not talk about it at all, Aunt Rosamund," Mary interjected. "In fact, I came to escape all that."

"Yes, quite right," Rosamund agreed. "Best distance yourself and make it known that you're not in mourning. We've plenty to occupy ourselves with. The Gershams are holding a ball tomorrow night and invited you along."

"To teach them some manners?" Mary replied cynically.

"Now, now, dear," Rosamund smiled, "we mustn't criticize new money. After all, your long-lost cousin is middle class."

"He's your cousin too, Aunt Rosamund," Mary retorted.

"Perhaps. But I'm not the one being encouraged to marry him. That task, I'm afraid, falls to you."

It was unusual that Lady Mary Crawley was not dancing at a ball, but tonight her mind was focused on more serious matters than waltzing and flirting. She picked up an extra glass of champagne as she approached, doing her best to remain subtle though, heaven knew, it was difficult for anyone to ignore her.

"Mr Napier," she smiled, handing him the glass. "I'm surprised you're not dancing. Usually you seem so keen at these things."

"Lady Mary," he greeted. "I had no idea you were in town. I'm afraid I rather hurt my leg when I was riding at Downton, so dancing for me this evening is out."

"I am sorry to hear it, Mr Napier," Mary said sincerely. "I trust it is nothing serious?"

"No, not at all," he assured. "But I'm terribly sorry, I shouldn't have brought up that hunt at Downton; no doubt it distresses you. I remember how upset you were the day – well, the day I left."

"I confess … I'm glad you brought it up, Mr Napier," Mary contradicted, stepping a little closer to him, "as I … wished to speak to you on that matter but did not quite know how to approach it."

"I'm afraid I do not quite follow, Lady Mary," Evelyn said, perplexed.

"I wonder if you wouldn't mind coming to my Aunt Rosamund's house for tea tomorrow afternoon?" Mary asked. "She goes out to play Bridge with some friends around four. The truth is, Mr Napier, I would very much like to speak to you a little – about … what happened when you were at Downton, and I'd like to do so where we won't be heard."

"Certainly, Lady Mary," Evelyn replied, his face a picture of friendly concern. "Four o'clock at Eton Square, yes?"

The four o'clock chime of the clock at Eton Square was drowned out by the butler's announcement of Mr Evelyn Napier's arrival. Mary stood, standing rather self-consciously in the centre of the room. It was strange for her to greet a visitor on her own – usually she had at least one of her sisters or female relatives with her. She had debated a great deal on what she should wear – something pretty, she decided, without being over-embellished. And something dark – not black – but something to show that she was marking the death of Mr Pamuk with sufficient respect. She settled on her dark blue skirt and lighter blue blouse – neat, elegant and subtle.

"Mr Napier," she greeted happily. "Please do sit down. Tea will be a few minutes."

They sat awkwardly for a few seconds, he not knowing even the reason for the invitation, she not knowing how to breach the subject. Eventually she began.

"Mr Napier. Very few people in this world like me, fewer still love me and even fewer are my friends, so I have few to confide in." She took a deep breath, waiting for his shock at her being so forward.

"Lady Mary –" he began, leaning forward in his seat.

"Just Mary, if you please," Mary corrected. "Please, allow me to continue. If I don't… well, I'm sure I will lose my confidence."

"Then continue, please, Mary," Evelyn invited.

"From your comments the morning you left, I gather that you knew Mr Pamuk's character – and apparently that you know mine better than most. You know, or can indeed imagine, what happened that night."

"Mary, do not make yourself uncomfortable on my account. I would never hint that to anyone – you have my word. Yes, I knew Pamuk and I knew that he was charming. I should have warned you of him," Evelyn said earnestly.

"Please. Do not try and take the blame for my folly. It was my fault – no one else's," Mary asserted. "Any thoughts of a marriage between us are absolutely gone, and I appreciate your honesty on that matter. You know my secret of … Kamal … but you do not know my biggest secret. That no one knows." Mary took a deep breath. She was not one for spouting her feelings and to reveal her insecurities – peeling back that cold veneer that she had established – was irreversible.

" The truth, Mr Napier, is that I need a friend. We share a secret. Can we forge a friendship?"

"We can," Evelyn smiled. "We most certainly can."


End file.
